


Pour Your Heart Into A Bottle

by Anonymous



Series: Pour Your Heart Into A Bottle [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (temporary and assumed), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bartender Castiel (Supernatural), Bartender Dean Winchester, Crying Dean Winchester, Djinni & Genies, Djinnverse (Supernatural), Dysfunctional Family, Family Dinners, Homelessness, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Knitter Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Minor Ruby/Sam Winchester, Soft Castiel (Supernatural), Strippers & Strip Clubs, i love you so much im actually crying right now Cas is so perfect and beautiful, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dean Winchester had been minding his own fucking business. He'd been setting these traps, for these demons, and he'd been basking in the victory over the vampires when-Dean Winchester was a bartender at the Roadhouse, the bar that his dad owned, and his friend, Cas, worked there, too. He didn't know what was going on. More importantly, he didn't know where he was.Less importantly, there was a certain soft kindness from Cas that he didn't know what to deal with.or: a djinnfic where Dean gets stuck in a djinn world where his parents are alive and John Winchester has done a concerning amount of damage.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & John Winchester
Series: Pour Your Heart Into A Bottle [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077875
Comments: 23
Kudos: 88
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rocksalts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocksalts/gifts).



> if you are confused as to when this happens, me too :) I have no clue when it happens. Maybe Season 8. Really no clue. In this 'verse, they've never met a djinn before. yay for new experiences!! jk  
> If you're confused about the trap thing Sam's getting him to build, yeah, so am I tbh. I think they're just putting a bunch of stuff in a large area that will like.... trap random monsters that walk by, idk. It's really not important. 
> 
> the reason Dean is so confused is because it is literally by design. It's part of the magic I think. Don't ask about details: I am not an expert on the lore lmao
> 
> And do I think John Winchester would swindle a young Ellen Harvelle into giving him the Roadhouse and then turn it into a strip club? Yes. Do I think he would make his own son work for minimum wage at this strip club? Absolutely. Does Ellen's OWN DAUGHTER work there? I'm so sorry Jo I'm in love with you but THIS is the bad place. He is a ruthless businessman. He runs a bunch of different places in this stupid Nebraskan town. That's why it's so busy and why he has so much money that he hoards. 
> 
> tw: obviously this is a djinnfic, at some point to escape, Dean will need to kill himself. That will come later. Other warnings are for John Winchester being a terrible parent (note: there is no physical abuse at any point, don't worry) and Dean assuming he's homeless and ending the chapter sleeping in his car. please I beg mercy, I know this is bottom of the barrel writing. I KNOW I suck. don't comment mean things pls.

Sam was a motherfucking genius. Dean didn’t say shit like that often. Especially not about his baby brother, who was more of a geek than Castiel-angel-of-the-lord and all the angels in his stupid garrison combined. They were history nerds, too. The worst kind. 

But yeah, Dean was ready to sing his praises and buy him a beer. He had thought of a plan. A trap. For monsters of many stripes. It was every weakness they could think of, put in one place, times 10. Dean didn’t have especially high hopes for it, there were plenty of things that needed ganking and the best way to do that was go for an old fashioned trip in the Impala with a silver knife, but it helped keep Lebanon a lot safer. 

A little nest of nomadic vampires in Southern California had gotten the Winchester treatment less than 12 hours ago and Dean was poking around with the traps again, back at home. Before they’d driven west, Sam had started preparation on some of the traps. Four of them around town, using some of the sigils and spells in the Bunker’s library. Sam knew the lore; Dean knew the protection spells. He’d been sent out to finish the traps. 

A bit of wind shook the trees behind his back. Dean straightened, turning around. “Angel alert,” he said, stepping away from the trap. He met the deep blue gaze with a smile.

“Dean.” What was Cas doing here? Dean’s heart flipped strangely and he rocked on his feet, smiling out of the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Dean smiled, punching Cas on the shoulder and drifting forward like he was in orbit. 

“I am here to help you with your hunt for the killer.” 

Dean grinned. “Didn’t I tell you? We just got the pair. Sam’s taking care of the bodies and looking around out in SoCal, I returned the kid we saved home hours ago. I’m here to finish setting up his traps. Got some sigils- Bobby had a few tips in his old diary. Should help ward off monsters and if they’re dumb enough to get caught, well...” 

“I’m glad to hear that.” Dean shivered slightly, hoping the night would mask it, and took another long drink of beer. “Is there anything else you require for these traps?” he asked. There was this certain… Dean didn’t know how to explain it. There was a quiet softness to his voice and it made him want to bury himself into his best friend’s arms. 

Ha. What kind of pathetic sonuvabitch did  _ that _ ? Cas was staring at him closely when he glanced over. “What, you dickhead? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Cas blinked and looked away. “I’m sorry, were you not… I picked up on something from you. My apologies.” Dean’s chest was achingly heavy. 

“No problem, man. You go help Sam out, fly to him. I can take care of this.” Cas popped out of existence. Dean’s shoulder was cold. 

And that was when he felt a bit of wind tickling his arms. The Impala held all his stuff- all he had was the gun. Dean slowly edged backwards, the salt on his soles crunching. It was all he could hear. Lifting his head, he listened hard. Wind whistling. His shuffling feet. Nothing was there. 

He trudged back, glaring at the devil’s trap. He hated drawing the damn things, it always made him antsy. With eyes lifted and alert, he finished drawing.  _ Crunch _ .

There. Dean whipped around, raising his gun. He fumbled with it, flipping the safety off. Moonlight on the hood of his car distracted him, but Dean went straight back to scanning the area, stumbling back. He remembered a few minor details of the case with the vampires, the ones that had travelled, drinking, from Jersey to Kansas to Utah to California. Well, one minor detail. A big one. Two of the boys were never found.

* * *

  
  


Dean rubbed at his eyes, head falling back. He blinked uncomprehendingly, at the ceiling. Why the fuck was it so white? That was not a motel ceiling. Motel ceilings were, at best, popcorn ceilings, and at worst, they had a large, sagging area that was full of water, ready to drop on an unfortunate guest. Sam had been the victim once. Dean almost smiled, before the gravity of the situation continued to hit him. That wasn’t the bunker ceiling, either.

He swallowed, once, sitting up. The room almost reminded him of when he was with Lisa. The kind of lived in, well kept room that a permanent person would have. He laughed, loudly. Hopefully the girl he’d slept with was hot. She must be rich to have a room like this. It was pretentiously nice looking, at least to someone who had spent his entire life- barring a 40 year stint in hell- moving between motels. 

Long story short, if you asked Dean, he would say that whoever lived here was a trust fund baby from the clean carpet alone. “Baby?” he asked, hazarding a guess that he was here with a girl. 

No reply. He climbed out of bed, not flinching at the cool air hitting his bare chest and legs. At least he’d had the foresight to put on boxers, he thought, self satisfied smile spreading across his face when he imagined the night before. He slowly walked through the house. It was single story, with a large kitchen and a tiny dining room, all kind of, well. He didn’t want to be rude but whoever decorated this house? Yeah, they had a shit eye for design. 

There were these awful beige painted cabinets, and the whole floor was linoleum. Come to think of it, in the bedroom, apart from the tidiness and natural elegance, there had been some extremely dubious choices made. When he saw the TV, though, he whistled. Flat screen, about the size of the entire wall. Made him think of walking through the mall with Sam and watching the Hollister display. He shook his head, nodding appreciatively one more time. 

“Sweetheart?” he called again, tentatively. Well. She obviously had left. He never actually stayed the night, usually. What was the etiquette again? 

A loud noise came from the bathroom, a jolting kind of moan. He tensed, hand going to his leg- and shit, no gun, or knife, not anything. Why the hell was he so unprepared? He crept through the hallway, passing the door to her bedroom, and stopped outside the bathroom. This was practically suicide, but immdeiate threats needed to be dealt with immediately. “Okay, you son of a bitch, get ready to get ganked,” he muttered, bursting through into the room. Instead of a vicious demon or hapless victim, there was an animal. 

A cat. It made a noise-  _ the _ noise- again, a mournful yowl. Dean blinked. “You’re kidding.” She- or he, it looked like a girl, but Dean never knew- wrapped herself between his legs, back arching up. She obviously belonged here. There was a litter box next to the toilet. 

He slowly began to stroke his fingers down her back. Almost immediately, she collapsed on the floor, stretching and purring. Dean continued to pet her, smiling fondly. She was a pretty cat, black, with large eyes that were blinking slowly at him. It was stress relief, he decided, collapsing on the floor next to her. She climbed into his lap and continued her contented purring. He tried his hardest to summon up a thought of manliness. Her purring drowned out the manly thoughts. 

Obviously, he was being tortured. 

She got her fur all over his boxers and she kept scratching him as she kneaded her paws into his leg. Every so often, she’d flop down and rub her face all over his hands. He was drowning. Drowning in cuteness. And now, he was really hoping to hell that the girl didn’t come back. After Lisa he didn’t want to- couldn’t- deal with those feelings, someone domestic. After Ben… Dean swallowed. He couldn’t think about forever. 

“Uh, I better get back to Sam,” he said eventually. The cat kept purring mournfully. Dean edged away. She followed him. “Please?” Begging didn’t work. So he sighed, pushing up off the ground and resigning himself to company. He found a white T-shirt and jeans on the carpeted floor of the bedroom. The assumption should be that they were his. But they were 1. clean, and 2. completely new. The jeans were a brand he recognized, but not a pair. They weren’t broken in. 

A knot of dread suddenly made itself known in his stomach. The cat twined herself around his now jeans-clad ankles and Dean swallowed, reaching for the phone on the dresser. It wasn’t his phone, but it was  _ a  _ phone. That was what mattered. 

He tried to remember what was going on. He’d been with.... With Sam. Right? He frowned, finding that he couldn’t remember. That- that should be more concerning than it felt. “Sam?” He had dialled his brother on autopilot. 

“Uh. Dean? Why the fuck are you calling me? Aren’t you at work?” 

_ Work _ . Work? Dean’s hands turned clammy. “Give me a second, I’m going to hang up,” he said steadily, kneading his hand on his thigh. The phone dropped on the bed. In his fugue, he hadn’t seen the messages. The  _ messages _ . 

One from a contact named  _ Dad _ :  _ Where are you?  _

And another from a contact, Mom:  _ Dean, hon, your Dad says you aren’t at work _

No one else. Just those two. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this was so wrong. “Dean?” The phone was still on. 

Sam could probably only hear his panting breaths for a minute. His panic. “Sam, I have to call you back.” He looked at the cat again. “Get up on the bed, sweetheart,” Dean said gently, coaxing her onto the coverlet. Was this real? A priceless gift? 

He smiled slowly.  _ His mom  _ was here, and if he had some sorta 9 to 5, he probably wasn’t a hunter. His dad wasn’t in Hell, he was up here with them. This was a dream. A daydream, or a vivid acid trip, some hallucination. Dean soaked in his next breath, smiling gently at the cat. He thumbed at her collar, picking it up.  _ Angelica _ . What a stupid name for a cat. 

He found a brush, ironically, the same kind of hairbrush he used, and combed through his hair. A peek out the window revealed he was somewhere in the Midwestern winter. Icy, cold air touched his fingers through the window. How  _ nice _ . Could this be… 

Dean swallowed, suddenly cautious. Where even was he? How could he prove it was real? He pinched himself, making a face at the sharp pain. Not a dream. If he was high it would wear off soon. He would enjoy himself while it lasted, then the high would go down. He groaned. He’d spent half an hour in his own personal heaven petting a cat? That was enormously stupid. “Angie, stay on the bed, I’m going to work.” 

He grabbed the stray socks on the floor from last night and marched off to the door. Work boots anywhere? No. The only shoes that looked like they fit were a pair of nasty loafers. They could use a shine. Dean scowled at them, but put them on anyway. His keys were on the kitchen counter, wallet too. When he peeked at the ID it was the right information. Hmm. Very specific. 

“I’m on my way, Dad!” he cheerfully announced when he picked up the call. 

There was a short pause. “For Christ’s sakes, Dean, when will you be on time? Yesterday, today, Monday!” He sounded angry. Dean shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the going ons. “If you were working for  _ anyone  _ else they would have fired you,” he said plainly. 

Well. Dreamworld. Same old disappointed Dad. “Sorry,” he muttered. 

“Sorry isn’t good enough, Dean, me and that Novak kid are covering your ass again!” His dad said. Dean heard the frown  _ through _ the phone and he laughed weakly. 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right, I’ll get there as soon as I can.” Where was he meant to go? Aw shit. Fuck. Whatever he was allowed to say. 

His dad sighed. John Winchester was no patient man. “I’ll be waiting. After your shift we can talk about your future at the Roadhouse.” 

The  _ Roadhouse _ . It was all starting to make sense. As he plugged himself into a line of traffic- and what the hell was so much traffic doing  _ here _ ? Middle of nowhere, Nebraska?- he tapped at the wheel. No wonder he hadn’t been going, if his dad was that much of a nutcase… 

Wait, this was all some sort of, some sort of drunk hallucination. He had no past here, no future, just the next few hours until the high wore off. He didn’t remember taking any drugs, though. To be truthful, Dean didn’t even remember drinking any beer. The cars crawled through streets that he recognized, but only barely. The Roadhouse was little more than a dive bar kept in business by loyal hunters. That was the town’s fault- it had less than ten houses in the town proper and there were two restaurants. One of those was a Wendy’s. Not even a good fast food place, a  _ Wendy’s _ \- 

He spotted the same Wendy’s sign above the same Wendy’s restaurant, but around it, more stood. McDonald’s, a Taco Bell, a mom and pop kind of place. He tore his eyes away and they fell on the Roadhouse.    
  
Dean’s jaw dropped. The Roadhouse looked. Spectacular. That was one word for it. He raised his eyebrow, looking around him. Were they kidding with this shit? It looked ridiculous. A good kind, maybe, with that glossy porch and neat walls holding up a classy as  _ fuck _ sign labelling it the Roadhouse- 

He’d better get inside. Dean wiped his hands on his pants, suddenly nervous, and barged through the door. He almost laughed, but his father’s expressionless face didn’t seem to be in a funny mood. The thing was, they’d turned it into a  _ gentleman’s club _ . Some things still remained. The bar, updated, and the pool table, also refinished in some undefinable way. “Dean.” 

He forced a smile. “Dad.” It felt so good to see him, even while he felt knobbly and kind of sick with the knowledge of who this man was to him. “I’m sorry I’m late, again.” 

They stared each other down. Dean didn’t know what to do with it, his father’s narrowed eyes boring holes into his head. “Excuse me? Mr. Winchester?” Dean’s head snapped up. He recognized that deep… sort of growly, familiar voice. Cas! 

“Cas, hey-” 

Castiel fixed him with a long look, his face turning ever so slightly  _ gentle  _ before it turned away. “I cannot find the limes.” 

John strode away from Dean, leaving him feeling cold and slightly scared. The other shoe would drop. Soon. “Have you checked the box under the bar?”

Castiel dipped his head, following John at a snail’s pace into the storage room. Before he entered, he turned, and fixed Dean with a sweet, small smile before continuing on. Dean blinked at him, bemused. Huh. Cas didn’t smile like that in real life. Maybe this hallucination  _ was _ good. All because of Cas. Seemed typical. For an angel of the lord. He snorted slightly, stretching as he walked behind the bar. “Thank you for your help,” Castiel told Dean’s dad as they walked out of the storage room. 

Dean’s back was to them, but a handy mirror behind the bar showed their every move. John patting Cas on the shoulder, murmuring something indistinct, and marching away. “Hey, where’s he going?” Dean asked once the door had closed. 

Castiel hummed. “I assume to another one of your family’s establishments.”  _ Another one of their  _ whats?  _ This made no sense _ . 

“Yeah. Which one?”    
  


Cas raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure, Dean, there are an awful lot of them. Why were you late today?”

An awful lot of them? Like they owned a chain of businesses? That didn’t sit right with Dean. And if his Dad owned the Roadhouse, where were Ellen, Ash, and Jo? Not dead. Hopefully not dead. His throat choked slightly as he contemplated the thought. His  _ mom _ was alive, and his  _ dad _ . Maybe Bobby, too, so it was only fair that the Harvelles were out here, successful and happy and- 

“Dean? I asked, why were you late?” It was a surprise to hear the softness in Castiel’s voice. He was normally so rough. 

“Sorry. I slept through my alarm,” he lied. A feeling told him that Cas wouldn’t have liked the real answer. Not that he was some prude, but it sounded terrible to tell your work pal that you’d missed half the morning- the whole morning, never mind, it was noon- to pet a cat and wander around some chick’s house. 

Castiel nodded. Was that common for this Dean? Or-  _ God _ , he was confused. Was this Dean him or had he replaced- what was going on? Right, right, drunken- drunken hallucination. “I think the dancers will arrive soon.” 

The  _ whats _ ? “Huh?” 

“Do you want to borrow my spare shirt? Your father didn’t seem too happy that you were dressed in such casual attire. Not appropriate for a bartender.” Dean shrugged. If it was meant to be, then why not?    
  


The storage room was dimly lit, a nice contrast to the glaring spotlights interspersed with low lamps in the main room. Cas handed over a button up shirt and Dean quickly stripped down from his normal clothes, yawning. When he turned around, a little more formal- jeans still on, but what-the-hell-ever, Castiel was looking at him. “Do I got something in my hair, man?” 

Castiel shook his head, and it seemed like his eyes wandered down Dean’s body as he did so. That- that was weird. Dean still wasn’t sure if he liked this hallucination. If he liked this. “Nothing in your hair,” Castiel said, his gaze fixed unmoving on Dean, so familiar he could cry. Cas was practically the  _ same _ . That was a relief. 

They left the storage room, making small talk about Cas’s cousin’s new baby, when Dean stopped short, twitching uncomfortably. Why was- he averted his eyes,  _ averted them _ , and yanked Cas back towards the bar. Now, the mirror was a curse, not a blessing. He could see Jo-  _ Jo Harvelle _ \- fluffing her hair back, getting undressed to a bra. And underwear. He did not like this dream hallucination. Not anymore. 

“Dean?” Castiel was finally a little less sure of himself. “Is something wrong?” 

Dean swallowed, twitching uncomfortably when more women walked in. “Yeah. Yeah.” His voice was meant to be normal, and even, but it came out stressed as  _ fuck _ . “What’s going on?” he whispered. 

Castiel looked at him sharply. “Dean, are you okay? You haven’t taken anything, have you..?” Dean miserably shook his head. He hadn’t taken a thing, and he knew it. This was some other nightmare fantasy. “Dean, I need you to look at me. Breathe. In and out.” Dean gripped his forearms, eyes shut tight, as his chest heaved with mistaken breaths. They all felt so wrong-footed and uneven that he staggered forward, slowly breathing. One of Cas’s thumbs was stroking up and down his forearm. That. Was nice. “Breathe with me.” 

Apparently the women weren’t used to meddling, because they continued going about their business. Or maybe they were used to Dean, this Dean, being messy. Poor, cluttered, broken Dean Winchester, who worked at his Dad’s strip club. “Sorry,” he gasped eventually. 

“It’s no problem.” That same, soft thumb kept stroking. Gradually. Gradually, Dean relaxed from his tiny half-anxiety attack, the stress leaving his body drained in one fell swoop. “Customers are going to start arriving soon,” Cas continued. “We’d better finish getting ready.” 

“How long till Tuesday?” someone groaned. 

Next to her, “Too long.” Dean stared. “I want a day off soon.”    
  


“Glad he’s late again, starting late is a plus,” the other replied, the both of them glancing over. 

Dean tore his eyes away. “Yeah. Of course.” Dean didn’t look any of the girls in the eye. Especially not Jo. She was like his sister, fuck, that was just wrong. How could his dad be okay with this? The little fantasy Dean sometimes entertained of his Dad being a cool guy broke into pieces within minutes of being near him and now he felt even worse. “Just tell me what to do.” 

Dean’s directionless stuttering and minor nervous breakdown led to a very lenient Cas. Not information he’d need in the future, he planned for this never to happen again, but interesting nonetheless. He followed simple directions until he felt mostly calm. That was when customers started pouring in. Well, maybe not pouring, but for 2:00 on a Friday? It was full. 

He swallowed, taking an order. Every five minutes, he’d glance at Castiel and take comfort in the fact that at least  _ one  _ of their hands were steady, that even Dean’s muddled thoughts couldn’t detract from the calm clinking of clear ice in the glasses. 

Profoundly uncomfortable, nearly sick with confusion, and eager to leave, Dean worked until eleven. He’d normally be all for working in a strip club but Jo had taken all the fun out of it. Not like he could blame her. It was normal shit to not want to stare at his sister-figure thing all day while she danced on strange mens’- he shivered. He was never one for strip clubs anyway. “Dean.” 

“Cas.” Cas was staring at him in a very worried like way. Dean did not like it. 

“Listen, I’m fine. I’ve been fine since seven. It’s been hours, I’m ready to go home-” 

“Good night, Dean. Rest well and have sweet dreams.” It was such a Cas thing to say. He smiled. 

“I will, buddy.” 

In the car, he was faced with yet another conundrum. He had no idea where he lived. The Impala was all he knew. He shifted it into gear, driving aimlessly through the streets. He couldn’t make heads or tails of how the town had changed. The atmosphere was busy, almost like a city. “Dean?” 

He’d dialled Sammy. Again. Without even meaning to. “Sorry.” He blew out a breath. 

“It’s really annoying how you keep calling like this? Is something wrong, Dean?” He snorted to himself. “Seriously.” 

“It’s fine, Sammy-” 

“What did you call me?” Dean swallowed. 

“Sorry. Give me a second, I’m lost.” Sam let the silence hang between them for a long moment. Dean finally pulled through into a parking lot. “I’m just having a bad day.” 

“That’s it?” Sam sounded confused. Everything in Dean wanted to call him, poke fun at Sam- supermodel hair, girlishly emotional, a myriad of things- but he stayed silent. He wanted nothing more than to get coffee, someone else in the car, and make sense of things. “Why don’t you just call Mom, or something?” 

“I fucked up, sorry.” Somehow, he felt like he should say it. Like he was very much used to it. “I’ll let you go.” 

He could hear the hesitance on the other end of the cell, but he ended the call anyway. They’d spoken for five minutes. It felt like it had been shorter. Half a second. 

He let out a deep breath, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His phone would be a treasure trove. At the time, he’d not realized it, but it was the most useful place to find out who he was here. Especially since his identity seemed somewhat… permanent. No ten burner phones, or six extra IDs, or long backstories he used to think up when Dad was hunting with him and Sam was at college. 

_ Contacts:  _

_ Dad _

_ Mom _ _  
_ _ Sam _

_ Ruby _

_ Novak _ \- wait, wait, wait. Why wasn’t it Cas? He changed the information, scowling slightly. 

_ Bobby _ . 

Dean held in a deep breath. Was everyone alive here? Jo was in there, and Ellen, and Ash, far, far down on his list of recent calls, at least a year ago. A couple numbers were simply labelled  _ hookup _ . Dean rubbed at his nose. He was a crier. A nasty kind of overemotional, pathetic little thing, when he did it, but this seemed like an appropriate time. He sniffled slightly. Living in his car, Dad was mad at him, and Sammy obviously thought he was nothing at best, the family fuck up at worst, Mom hadn’t read any of his texts- 

  
A pair of headlights snatced his night vision away from him. His own were shut off, the car was parked. He would sleep here tonight, barring anything better. Where  _ was  _ he? 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh i forgot all the really relevant villains and I didn't want to put Crowley in so. Gordon.
> 
> literally if i thought i was doing bad last night.... jesus christ i'm literally living in a new dimension of hell. tbh it was expected. haven't felt like this for most of December I need at least 2-3 weeks a month where I'm feeling incredibly emotionally unstable, dangerously impulsive, and a resident of the universe instead of my body <3 Please take care of yourselves if you're reading this! I know this fic only has like 100 hits right now so I doubt anyone is, but get a drink of water, do your breathing exercises, put on a nice song if you can.

The next morning, Dean woke up clear headed. The remnants of last night were strewn around him like clothes on the floor after a hookup. A tissue wedged into the pocket of the jeans he’d been wearing three days straight, phone full of no texts, no calls, and the car parked. He poked his head into the body of the Impala. The sun was just rising. Great. He was up  _ early _ . 

Fortunately, the night  _ had  _ cleared his head. He didn’t remember slipping off to bed, but he assumed it happened at some point because he was now awake and it was morning… ugh, he felt nauseous. He’d barely eaten yesterday. And-  _ fuck _ , he’d had that awful little breakdown right in front of Cas. Goddamn it. 

First, he drove to the diner he’d seen last night. Before he walked in, he was gripped with a brief fear. His dad had- Cas told him, yesterday, that his Dad ran a lot of businesses, right? Would this one be a Winchester business? Jesus, what were Winchesters if they weren’t saving people and hunting things? He shook off the thoughts, like they were pesky mosquitoes, and typed “Winchester” into the phone. 

A row of results showed up. All of them were about his dad. John Winchester, John Winchester- oh, there was Sammy. No wonder he’d been pissed off last night, he lived in Kansas, not even nearby. And he was high profile. A lawyer. Dean swallowed, resting his head on the backrest. Not like he needed confirmation he was the family fuck up, but. It was still hard. Bad news, too, the diner was a Winchester one. Apparently they had a chain. Dick Roman fucking-

“Dean?” 

He suppressed a yelp and stared at Cas, who was holding a bagel and a large cup of something hot. Hopefully not tea, that leafy stuff was nasty and gross. “Uh, get in?” The Impala was clean, at least some things never changed, and Cas sat easily. 

“What are you doing up this early?” he asked. He had a very tranquil look on his face. Damn, but even just seeing Cas, who had his shit together, made Dean feel a little bit better. “I did not have you marked in my mind as someone who was an early bird.” 

“Aw, ‘cause you’re such a morning person yourself,” Dean chuckled. Castiel half smiled, conceding the point. “Is that coffee?” 

Cas passed it over. “Could you- get another bagel for me?” Dean asked, absolutely taken with the desire to not step foot in there. Cas met his eyes and sighed. 

“Take mine. It will get cold.” Dean blinked at the bagel and smiled. Probably looked like a sappy idiot. A bitch. 

“Thanks.” 

Cas was taken aback. “Oh- you’re welcome, of course.” 

Dean hummed around a bite. “Really, I appreciate it.” He punched Cas in the shoulder. 

“Gentle with me, Dean.” Cas watched a few people go by as Dean ate. “I’ll go get another one, make sure my seat stays warm,” Cas said, a- joke? Dean squinted at him.    
  


“Sure thing, buddy,” and he took another large bite of his breakfast, relieved at the food.

The bagel itself was chewy and it tasted good, like gluten and fresh baked flour. At least now he had an answer for why his family was so successful. Now that he thought about it, the coffee was great, too. Huh. What were they, chefs? “Oh, I’ll get that,” he said, reaching across the door when he caught sight of Cas. 

Cas had a little box of cream cheese. “Can you put on the radio?” he asked in that sweet, soft way of his, where he wasn’t acting scary. Dean rubbed his forehead. Maybe coming here had addled his- 

Shit, what brought him here? “Sure, buddy,” Dean grunted. 

“I want strawberry cream cheese, how about you?” Cas’s tongue flicked out to lick the tip of the plastic knife. Shit. Fuck. Dean fumbled his own knife, drawing a curious look from a curious, a curious Castiel who was now sucking a bit of cream cheese off of his finger. Dean stared out the window, chewing on his lip. 

“I’m fine with anything.” The crackle of 100 Grand bar caught his attention and he grinned as Cas chewed through it.

“So, Dean, what are you doing here?” Cas asked pointedly. 

He glanced to his phone- three texts, all of them just slightly  _ angry _ , and struggled for words. People didn’t  _ check in  _ on Dean, it wasn’t something people did. In this world, especially, they didn’t. Except for Cas. 

For the first time, he wondered what they were to each other. Co-workers was the obvious answer. (it felt like so much more than that.) “I’m holding up fine.” 

“I’m glad to hear it. We don’t have our shift today, you know, there was no reason to wake up at this time.” Dean noted it down, or, in fact, this was the perfect time to get some information. 

“I lost track of the days and you know, I’m not quite sure when my shifts are?” He left the question hanging and Cas easily took the bait. 

A hidden fondness, a well of deep affection that just kept getting deeper, began to flow like liquid sugar through his veins. Castiel was just so… reliable, so steadfast, he didn’t question Dean’s messiness or failure, he just went on. Even here, in this hellish alternate universe, he was Dean’s best friend. Anywhere Dean went, Cas would be by his side. That was all he really wanted. Cas patiently started relaying the information, even sharing his little calendar with Dean.

Castiel Novak was the bright spot. 

  
  


The calendar was the most useful shit. Dean drove Cas home, and immediately shifted the car into park. On the calendar, he had his shifts marked down, plus a load of different crap that he was meant to do. There was a banquet thing in three weeks and he had a night out planned with a girl, just as friends, he thought, on a coming Monday. Today was Wednesday. The last thing, the most important thing, was that he had family dinners every Friday night. A little more exploration of his phone brought him the realization that the house he’d woken up in? It  _ belonged  _ to him. 

Promptly, he gunned it for the house. There was a cat there. She probably needed to be fed. And God, he’d named his cat, his own cat,  _ Angelica _ ? No wonder people hated him. He felt so dumb. Shamefaced, he walked in and fed her, sitting on the linoleum kitchen floor, against the beige cabinets, tired of himself. 

Dean staggered up, stretching slightly. “Hey, Angie, what do you say we take care of some errands?” She walked up the stairs with him, into his bedroom. He got out of the stiff jeans, digging for a comfortable pair that was broken in. When he looked up again, she was lounging in the sun. Like a little goddess. Dean chuckled, scratching under her chin and putting up with the nails because it barely registered on his pain scale. Her fur had switched from black to a dark, fluffy brown, glowing in the sunlight. “What do you say we get a Glock and some silver knives, huh? Make ourselves feel better? More safe?” 

She meowed. Dean rolled his eyes. What kind of girly version of himself was out here? Pansy dude, buying a little cat and naming her after a girl, spineless loser that Castiel was  _ used to helping him out _ with his shit. Dean had freaked out, yeah, but he did that once in a blue moon. And he did it alone, usually with a beer and maybe some whiskey. Not with someone holding onto him, fingers smoothing down-

Why was  _ that _ the part stuck in his head? God. He had much worse things to worry about. He grumbled his way to the coffee pot, getting the morning cup. The phone buzzed. 

_ Sam: If you need to talk, we talk on Friday _

Then Friday couldn’t come soon enough. 

* * *

  
  


Every time he wiped down the bar and climbed back into the Impala, 11 usually, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. His dad texted him every morning to make sure he was in, but Dean hadn’t been late all week. Mornings, he usually found himself in a puddle of sweat, nauseous. Like the worst week he’d had back from Hell, unending nightmares. Friday, though, he slept in, tracking down  _ Lord of the Rings _ and making a morning out of it, the cat a fat weight on his chest. 

The book looked untouched. Other Dean must not have been a big reader. 

His phone buzzed. Cas- a cat video. Even in this dreamworld- that was what he landed on, that it was a dreamworld- he barely knew how to use texting, so there were liberal emojis and the whole thing was formatted by a letter, bracketed by  _ Hello Dean, _ and  _ Yours, always, Castiel Novak _ . It was almost weirder to have this Cas- human, truly human- being that weird. At least when he was a hot blooded angel, he had an excuse. Dean chuckled, and the chuckles turned into true laughter when he watched the video. 

“Hey, man.”

“Dean? I didn’t know you would be up this early.” Dean shrugged, reaching for a banana. This version of him was a masochist. Or Sam did his grocery shopping for him. But then, he knew, Dean knew that Sam was not close with him in the way he was meant to be. Or he used to be. He forced back a choking sob- dammit, he had crying genes and they were at work all the time- putting a bit of Zeppelin on the stereo. 

“Y’know, I’ve been trying to get to sleep earlier,” Dean told him, biting through the apple. ‘So it makes sense that I’m waking up earlier.’ 

Castiel hummed. “I had a very good night, and now I’m working on my knitting.”

_ Cas, sitting close by, needles clacking together quickly. Dean had quite a few memories with Cas that were familiar. Sam, with Sam he had the same memory of listening to classic rock on his Walkman with his brother sleeping next to him. With Cas,  _ Dean _ was the one sleeping. Atop a motel bed, scattered news articles and research around him, probably an old cup of coffee. 2:00 in the morning. It had become tradition for Cas to either drag a chair over or simply sit in the space next to Dean, right on the bed. It was a weird comfort. Like hearing Sam snore, or mumble in his sleep.  _

“What are you making?”

Dean took a long drag of coffee, waiting for an answer. “A sweater for Anna.”

_ Anna _ was alive here? The one he’d slept with? “That’s nice,” he managed. 

Cas made a little noise in the back of his throat. Back pressed against the cool countertop, Dean felt warmth rush through his body. “Darn, I dropped a stitch.”

Again, it kept him tethered to the real Cas and his never ending frustration with the fallibility of crafting. Even the mention of failure made Cas crabby. He loved to knit but if his projects stalled out it was real easy to hit a nerve. Sam, being a little shit, liked to bring it up, and Dean always had to elbow him into submission. Sam loved Cas, anyway, so it wasn’t like it made too much of a difference.

Sam was always nice to the people he loved. “Nice weather out tonight, huh?” Dean asked, drifting to the window. 

The worst part about the dreamworld was the haziness. No thoughts before he went to bed, he forgot everything so  _ quickly _ , the odd way reality happened around him. It reminded him of how he felt when Sam or Cas died. “I know you like the wind.” There was this odd kind of affection hidden in Cas’s voice. 

“You’re weird as hell, man,” Dean said frankly, working the window open. The wind rustled loudly in the trees, pushing at the waves of his hair. Dean took a deep breath. “I do like the wind, though. Who remembers stuff like that?” he laughed. 

“I’m very observant.” 

“Of course  _ you _ are, you’re Cas,” he retorted almost immediately. 

“Is there a reason for your call, this morning?” The methodical snap of knitting kind of hammered a loose plate in his brain into place. Dean was all loose screws up there. “Or are you just lonely?” 

Dean coughed. “Sorry.” He turned away from the open window. Cas reassured him with a quiet, rumbling noise that sounded like  _ it’s fine _ . Dean couldn’t be sure. “Who all is going to be there, tonight? Were you keeping track?” 

“If you’re planning on going alone, it will be your mother and father, Bobby Singer, Sam and the lucky lady he has decided to bring this time, plus… hmm. Let me remember. Gordon, I believe. And Donna and Jody.” Not Cas? 

Fuck, and  _ Gordon _ ? The creep with the hangups about vamps? “Nice,” he muttered. “Dad  _ trusts  _ them?” 

Castiel frowned. Dean could hear it over the phone, even. “I may be mistaken, but you know, I’m fairly sure the main unit of your family meets for cocktails later.” Dean nodded. That sounded right. 

What was this family going to be? “I- I gotta go, Cas, I’ll see you tomorrow. Lo- Bye.” Would this family be one that chained together, never let go, or were they…

Dean couldn’t help but wonder if they were just as cold as a corporate business. If everyone acted to Dean like his Dad did. If everyone acted to  _ Sam _ that way, Dean would kill ‘em. Sammy didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. 

* * *

“Goodbye, Angelica.” The words drifted through his mind. Getting a slow blink from the cat as he walked out the door had been the highlight of Dean’s day. Phone call with Cas aside, at least. He waited quietly outside the door to his house, in a flannel that was too small for his shoulders, for someone to let him in. 

It was his dad who opened the door. Dean stepped foot inside and immediately felt his jaw drop. “Nice to see you, Dean.” Dean nodded, too distracted to respond. This was  _ not  _ a Winchester house. It had a- a fuckin’ grand staircase, a big soft carpet leading into a homey kitchen, at least two rooms that could be legally referred to as living rooms, who the fuck needed two living rooms? No one seemed to bat an eyelash. 

Of course, though. His dad was good at everything he did, and it made sense to have a house matching the success of their business. “How’s your week been, dear?” his mom asked, smiling brightly at him. 

Dean swallowed. What had happened here, without whatever it was, without hunting, had made them all so good. So lovely. “Fine. Only late once.” 

He checked out the rest of the room on instinct, wariness warring with the comfort oozing out of the room. Both of his parents were with him. Same room and everything. It was like watching a pair of aliens; his mom smiled wryly, kissing his Dad. Dean averted his eyes, picking at the hole in his jeans. He’d tried on every pair, these were the most comfy ones. But it seemed he was underdressed. 

“Dean, hon, why don’t you put on something more appropriate?” His mom asked, pursing her lips. The way she raised her eyebrows was almost affectionate, if he didn’t feel so crummy about it. 

“Skip the jeans next time,” his dad agreed, face twisting. 

“So I just- go up to my bedroom and, and change?” he asked haltingly. His mother sent him a patented smile, nodding in agreement, before turning back to her glass of wine and her husband. 

He jogged up the stairs- carpeted, but only in the middle- and stopped at the top of the stairs, leaning on the post. There was a spacious hallway leading to what looked like five rooms; he had no clue which one was his. He opened the first door to a bathroom nicer than, fuck,  _ anything _ he had seen before. The next one was obviously Sammy’s. He hovered in the door for a spare second, before exhaling. This was a  _ dream _ , he was invading no one’s privacy. He took a good look around, inspecting the fine quality wooden furniture.

This was not Ikea shit. Dean smoothed a hand over the blankets, a soft blue color, before twisting towards the writer’s desk. It dominated the room, with these bookshelves built around it and a silver computer sitting on the glossy top. Dean looked up at them, stomach turning in circles like a washing machine. This was Sammy, sans everything bad that had ever happened. Sans  _ Dean _ taking care of him. It looked like he turned out nicely. 

“Dean? Your brother who keeps calling in the middle of the night?” Voices echoed from downstairs; he gave the room one last look and turned out of there. 

The room that had to be his was facing an older oak tree, with a white bed and dresser, maching, in the room. He half expected the house to be the one he’d lived in ages 0 through 4. It was a bigger one, different entirely. The closet held promise, and so did the dresser. After one look inside, Dean whistled. There were at least five fine-lookin’ suits in there. Congratulations to  _ him _ . Shrugging on a sports jacket that felt like it really did not fit right, Dean listened in downstairs. 

It was a classy debate over gender and sexuality. Nice. He outright snorted, taking the stairs two at a time and snatching a beer out of the drink fridge before Bobby could close it. “Bobby!” he said, smiling. “How are you?” 

Bobby made a grunting noise, pouring the beer into a glass while Dean gulped straight from the bottle. “I’ve been doing good, Dean,” he said, reaching for a napkin and piling cheese crackers onto it. 

“You look weird, I feel like i haven’t seen you look like this.” He  _ did _ look weird. Bobby wore flannels and trucker hats. It was his uniform, same way that Cas wore that stupid trenchcoat all the time. His face drifted into a frown when he realized that the longer this went on, the longer he would go without seeing  _ his _ Cas. Or his Sam, the one tied up in the mess that brought him here. 

The unease in his stomach almost made him miss Bobby’s next words. “I wear something like this every day.” Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Dean, you’re not- smoking the, uh, devil’s lettuce?” he chuckled.

“No, no,” Dean said, a fleeting smile capturing his face and falling off, snowflakes sliding down a bleak winter window. “Distracted, though. Nothing a beer can’t fix.” Bobby’s eyes crinkled and Dean took a long swallow of beer to keep himself sane. 

A steady beat of drums, classic guitars and what sounded like a keyboard started up in the next room over a stereo a hell of a lot nicer than his at home, in the bunker. Bobby was a breath of fresh fuckin’ air. Weird head with a bald spot not covered by a hat and awkward button up aside, he was so familiar Dean was almost tempted to hug him. 

Ha. What a silly urge. “Dean, how are you?” 

“Sammy!” He opened his arms, grinning. Bobby took a look at him and chuckled. Dean probably looked drunk, his familiar rough voice charmed by the fantasy.

“Good luck, Sam.” It was just the two of them in the kitchen. 

Dean kept his arms open for half a second longer, before folding them, beer dangling from his left hand. “How’s it been? Did you bring a girl?” He craned his neck, smiling playfully. “Show her off, come on!”   
  


“What did you just say?” 

Dean’s smile faltered. “Nothing, nothing. Tell me how you’ve been, come on,” he said, leaning against the counter. In the real world, Sam was probably annoyed at- wait, wait, if he was stuck here in the dreamworld, what was going on out there? Was Sam worried? Was  _ Cas _ worried? 

“I’m doing good in my classes.” Sam was drinking a girly cocktail, Dean noted. Interesting. “The degree is rewarding. I know Dad doesn’t put a lot of stock in it, but-” 

“Fuck what Dad says,” Dean interrupted. 

Sam had the worst look of surprise on his face. “Are you real? Dean, are you- are you in there?” he asked, watching Dean flounder for an explanation. “He’s in the next room, and you’ve never said anything about this-” 

“Forget it.” Dean shook his head. God, this him really was a pussy, huh? Never stood up to his dad, not even for his brother. That was some dumb shit. “I’m glad you’re doing well, I’m proud of you, man.” 

“Thanks. I guess.” Sam wrinkled his nose but didn’t say anything further. “What were you so excited to talk with me about?” 

Dean’s face fell. “I wouldn’t say  _ excited _ , I- I mean, I thought I’d be gone by now, to tell you the truth.” He nudged Sam with his elbow, staring into the living room. His parents were standing,  _ together _ , and everyone was regarding Gordon with a taste of apprehension, Bobby was out there throwing jokes at Jody, it was- it was good. Really good. 

“What do you mean? Did you finally find a real job?” Dean rolled his eyes. Were they some kinda family who only thought an accountant with a 9 to 5 was a real job? That was bull. “I hope you’re looking forward to buying that house off Mom and Dad.” 

What the  _ fuck _ ? He lived in his parents’ house? Never mind the- the sheer absurdity of imagining his parents owning more than one house, he lived in it? Heart thumping in his chest, Dean drank heavily from the beer, almost finishing it. “No. It’s nothing,” he said faintly. “You know this isn’t the right world, right? Sammy?” 

“No? I have no  _ clue _ what you are talking about.” Statement of fact. Thing was, Sammy was always right, and Dean felt like trusting those words on instinct. Maybe he could just… no. No, Dean was sure as hell not staying around and living in this fake world with these fake people, his fake cat, no bunker and no Cas. This Cas was not Cas. This Sam was obviously  _ not his Sam _ , and as much as his heart would ache to see Bobby go, this was not his Bobby. “Dean, come on. You know I went to Stanford,” he teased. 

“I’m not high!” Dean exclaimed, rolling his shoulders back in agitation. 

Sam fixed him with a look. “Just saying- you don’t seem like yourself. More of a wreck than usual,” he snorted bitterly. Dean was at a loss for words. “Sorry,” Sam followed with, a beat too late. 

“Okay,” Dean agreed, shaking his head around to clear it. “So, uh, who’s the girl?” he coughed, trying not to, like, throw up or something. 

“Her name’s Ruby.” No. Oh, God, oh  _ fuck  _ no. She had gotten her hands on Sam once- never again. Dean was absolutely tired of this, no question. A click of stilettos sounded on the floor. 

Dean twisted his fingers around the lip of the bottle; then looked up. They met eyes, one tilted cheek. “Hey, Sam.”

  
Dean went still. “Oh.” Sam smiled up at her, kissing her cheek. He stared at them, nodding tightly when he caught her eye. “Nice to meet ya.” 

He didn’t offer his hand for her to shake and she didn’t do the same. Mutual dislike. He sighed softly, because this was really, really just  _ great _ . He wasn’t into the tension. 

“Dinner is ready, boys.” Mom. Dean stood up, the sweat on the beer bottle making his hand damp and gross, not that he wasn’t already that, from nerves and general panic from how  _ out of place  _ he felt. 

The room was a hubbub of conversation. Donna, Jody, and Bobby seemed to get along well and his father was discussing in low voices something that seemed to be very important to Gordon. Dean didn’t fail to catch the look, naked in the achingly bright light of a crystal chandelier, that Sam had on his face. He was  _ scared  _ of Gordon. Maybe not scared, maybe something else, but he had the deepest apprehension set in the frown lines of his face. 

Dean twisted the napkin in his lap, ignoring the look of harsh concern his mother sent his way. He was vaguely miserable here, but he’d thought it was absolutely worth it given that his father was seeing success and his mother was seeing domesticity. Sam at law school, Bobby alive, Cas doing some reading on the side as he worked as a bartender. No one was in danger. He still thought it was perfect. No matter how many unshed tears gathered in his eyes at the randomest moments, Dean was impossibly happy to see them safe. 

“A toast to the newest deal?” his mother proposed, with a flashing smile. Dean looked up at the precarious chandelier, scratching beneath his collar. “We’re always so happy to see the hospital gain a little bit of joy.” 

Vamps didn’t exist here; but Gordon’s smile was hungry. “You know how I love to invest in health, Mary, John.” Across the table, Bobby coughed. No one but Dean caught the words hidden in there,  _ loan shark _ . He almost burst into laughter but managed to swallow it, fixing his eyes on the wall and pasting a charming smile as he worked to get the bubbling laughter under control. Was Gordon an  _ insurance provider _ donating a wing, or agreeing to help out the  _ hospital _ ? Bloodsucker. Greediness was his brand, huh…

As they went on with a toast, a long speech about duty and love and protection, Dean’s idle hands shaped the napkin into little swans, a boat, and a flower. His mind flitted aimlessly around the room. 

The dinner went on, and the more that happened, the more alone Dean felt. Sammy had a very smart-sounding conversation with Ruby about the theory of superstringiness and the universe? (maybe, Dean could never be sure) and Bobby chatted up Jody. His father made polite small talk with Gordon. Dean; he languished at the side of the table, eating more and more mashed potatoes until his Dad sent him a dark look and he stopped immediately. He missed  _ Cas _ , he thought, sighing slightly. Castiel would have made this a lot more fun. 

For starters, he’d also be drinking beer from the bottle. And then Dean would have a little partner. Again, warmth exploded out of his smile as he sipped at some water, willing the private joy to go down. Cas was his best friend in every universe. Cas was his best friend in  _ this _ universe. He was always afraid it was just by chance, a slip of God’s plan. 

Dean curled his lips around the beer bottle and drank. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think anyone is really reading this but I had a lot of fun writing it! comments are still appreciated!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :( i spent so long crying to taylor swift in the bathroom last night  
> not even good music. I was listening to the 1989 album. I haven't listened to that in earnest since i was 12. seriously feeling incurably sad :( probably should look up coping mechanisms so I don't take it out on myself  
> and for this chapter: there are v. light references to sex and Dean implies that Sam is using drugs! also as this is the last chapter, dean DOES knife himself to escape the dream. After Cas says "Dean, tell me what's wrong," the rest of the scene is that event. stay safe!! and I don't think too much of this is emotionally taxing, but just remember to keep yourself where you are comfy. I really do hope you enjoy and my inadequacies (in writing) don't ruin the fic for you

“Dean! Dean!” Cas called. Dean blinked his eyes open, yawning widely. A mouthful of fur was all he got and he snapped his mouth shut, pushing the cat off. It took less than two seconds for him to go from fast asleep to alert, hearing Cas knock on his door. 

“Give me a moment, Angie,” he whispered, setting a kiss on her forehead and trudging to the door. T-shirt, superman boxers. Acceptable attire for talking to your best friend. “Cas, it’s- 7:30, is something wrong? Do you need to come in?” He shuffled inside. 

“I wouldn’t have come over if I didn’t want to come inside.” Dean laughed, closing the door firmly on the blast of chill air. “It’s about Anna,” he said softly. 

“Anna?” Dean repeated. “The, her sweater?” 

Cas smiled gently, but it was tremulous. Dean suppressed the dual urge to sit him down with a nice cup of tea and mercilessly mock him for the fragility. God, was he a piece of work. “She lost her job.” He paused. “She’s a nurse, you know. I hate to ask favors, but…” 

“I can call my dad.” Cas looked up at him like he was crazy. Did Dean not call his dad? Did he not- “Well, not my dad.” His heart ripped out of his chest, pounding, frenzied fear. He was here, in this perfect universe, and he wasn’t enough? It didn’t make sense. Sneaking a look at Cas, he began to wonder if it was real. 

“I’d appreciate that. Thank you very much, Dean,” Cas said formally. 

Dean patted him on his shoulder, hand resting on his shoulder. He could feel Cas’s so close, a thin piece of fabric between fingertips and warm skin. Dean left it there, hyperaware of proximity and maybe boundaries pushed too far, and his mom hadn’t even hugged him when he went home, but Cas was here. What was with that? His family could morph around him but he expected Cas to be same old Castiel, angel-of-the-lord. It would have been weirder, he decided, if Sam had changed a lot. 

He was smart, like always, and just as good and shiny. Dean knew for a fuckin’ fact he didn’t see himself that way, like he was tainted, or something, by hunting and the demon’s blood. Dean’s hand left Cas’s shoulder and he made his way to the sink, sneaking a look back. Cas was huddled over the counter, twisting his fingers. Poor guy. “Need water?” 

“Yes, please.” Dean’s shirt rode up when he got the glasses down; he tugged it down, filling them up. Cas drank it in one go, as Dean muffled a laugh.

“Thirsty, huh?” 

“I’m quite parched,” he replied frostily, face smoothing into a gentle smile as he looked at Dean. The slow sweep of dark eyelashes was damn near bewitching. “And it takes a lot of water to maintain these muscles.” 

Dean looked away. “You’re telling  _ me _ .” Cas kept prodding and teasing Dean after he’d talked extensively about his “new workout routine.” This Dean was lazy; no surprise there. But to get into shape, Dean had been doing 2 hour exercises. “I work out 4 times as much as you.” 

“Dean. Are you okay?” Why was Cas always saying his name like that, it was so weird!  _ Dean _ . He put special emphasis on it, like it held the same reverence as Sammy’s name or God. 

“Cas, dude, what have I told you about feelings talks?” Dean asked him, sounding probably too condescending. Cas opened his mouth. “Ah- no. No.” 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said quietly. 

“Welcome, buddy, want to watch the- uh, the game?” Cas considered him, and apparently, even here, Dean couldn’t escape the uncanny feeling that Cas was looking straight through his bullshit. 

* * *

Monday. Noon. 

Dean had woken with a start and downed five cups of water until the trembling nerves in his gut subsided. And then, he went into work. 

Slow morning. It  _ was _ a bar, mornings were supposed to be slow, but it was still emptier than usual. Best part was coaxing Cas into watching  _ The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly _ with a pair of tangled headphones behind the bartop. “I don’t understand, Dean, why are they not shooting each other?”

“Hey, pal, it’s a western. Don’t question it too much,” Dean laughed. 

“I was not aware you liked westerns so much,” Castiel muttered. Jesus, Dean had to reflect again on the fact that this Dean was probably incredibly boring at parties. Fucker. He was starting to get attached to his alternate self, the one cheeky enough to- apparently- hit on all the dancers, even Jo. Well, not hitting on Jo. Ew. 

“Well, I’ve gotten into them. Sorry I don’t watch every game with you,” Dean said defensively, wiping the bar down and pointedly looking away. They both startled when the door banged shut. 

Three dancers had their legs dangling from the stage, and they were watching the petty argument with interest. “Hey, where is everyone? Why isn’t anyone in here?” Dean asked Cas directly, shifting uncomfortably at their stares flashing on his neck. 

Cas sighed, the tension flushing out of his stance. They bumped shoulders.  _ God _ , it felt so real. He’d think this was real Cas if he didn’t know better. There was nothing Dean wanted more than to reach around and trace around Cas’s body. “It’s Monday. Merely slow.” 

Dean leaned against the shelves, ruffling his hair. “Why don’t you put on some music, though, while we wait for the poor suckers to come in on an afternoon rush?” 

Cas acquiesced, taking his phone out and putting on a playlist. Dean stared past him- stared at the dancers filing away into the back room. A bright smile split one of their face’s open; Dean shook his head, letting out a ruffling sigh. “What are you playing?” 

“Some of my preferred 90s music,” Cas replied evenly. Some 90s rock strayed dangerously close to pop punk, but hey, Dean wasn’t complaining, at least it wasn’t the full frontal My Chemical Romance he’d heard a thousand times, it was still rock- 

Dean blinked. What the fuck was this? 

_ Light mists of pale amber rose? _

A  _ deep cloud of heavenly scent? _

“What kind of chick flick music is this?” Dean grumbled. “I’m going to change the station.” Castiel stopped him. 

“No, I like this one,” he said. Dean stared at him like he’d grown a second head. 

“You’re kidding.” 

Cas gave him a flat look. “What do you mean? Why would I lie, Dean? Is it too girly? Gender roles are a myth, you know.” Dean hesitated, hand drifting away from the radio. He wiped down the counter, humming along to the song. It was catchy. Twangy.

_ I love you, always forever, near and far, closer together, everywhere, I will be with you, everything, I will look for you- _

“You like it.” Castiel was smiling teasingly. 

Dean paused, shaking off his reverie. “What? No, I don’t.” Castiel raised his eyebrows and for some reason, some stupid- biological- reason, Dean started to flush. He wasn’t supposed to blush. Not at stuff like this, God. 

“You do.” 

Dean swallowed, rolling his eyes and letting it go. So Cas was wrong. He did that. Especially this Cas. This human Cas. But then- he- Cas started  _ singing along _ . Dean looked at him, staring dumbly. Absolutely baffled. When Cas noticed, he shrugged shamelessly, even raising his voice. 

For all the sheer girliness of it, the sight made something in Dean’s aching chest loosen. Cas sang beautifully. It was all he could think of, apparently, that Cas’s voice was like honey, deep inside the honeycomb. “Are you okay?” Dean scratched his head, flushing again and smiling sheepishly. 

“Yeah. Distracted.” Castiel’s fingers trailed down Dean’s arm. He was just checking in. Just singing along to one of his favorite songs. He was just passing over that bottle- their fingers were just brushing because they worked together, and passed whiskey bottles back and forth. “So what are you doing tonight?”    
  
He immediately knew he’d spoken wrong. Cas outright laughed. “What do we always do on early nights?” Dean did not know. 

“My favorite wasn’t- not last one, but the one before that,” he elected to say, hoping for details. 

Indeed, Cas shot him a satisfied grin. “We make a good team.” It was the same look  _ real _ Cas had when he did something especially well, or crafted a lie that Sam approved of. 

All of a sudden, Dean remembered that it wasn’t real. None of it was real. Not Cas, not his mom and dad, not the cat waiting at home for him. Relief flooded him. In the real world- his fingers curled around the edge of the bar- in the real world, Dean lived in his bunker with his brother. She sang on, a love song. 

_ Say you'll love, love me forever _

_ Never stop, never whatever _

_ Near and far and always and everywhere and everything _

_ Say you'll love, love me forever _

_ Never stop, never whatever _

_ Near and far and always and everywhere and everything _

“Dean.” Cas sounded cautious and very slightly… worried?    
  


“Cas,” he replied, putting on his patently ridiculous grin. “Sorry, missed what you said.” 

“I was saying you should offer me, uh,  _ free drinks _ ,” Cas said. Was that a euphemism? Dean’s brow creased as he tried to puzzle it out- it was really smart, Cas had his I’m-being-clever face on. 

“Sure,” he agreed eventually, chalking it up to general differences.

Hey, maybe this was karma for how he talked to Cas all those years. Payback for the sarcasm and the pop culture. He snuck up a glance at his angel, who was blissfully wiping down the bar again. There was really fuck-nothing to do, wasn’t there? “We get off in two hours.”

“Do we?” Dean’s eyebrows skirted his hairline, but before he got the chance to make any more probes around what the hell Cas was talking about, the door opened. 

Four guys tumbled in, and Dean could already tell they’d be an annoyance. “You get the glasses dried, Dean,” Cas said, shepherding him away from the group. He turned his piercing stare onto them, smiling. 

Dean could already tell it was probably slightly unsettling. That was just Cas trying to do customer service, though. He suppressed a laugh. Like Cas trying to do hunting and other investigations. The night moved on into rowdier territory, the half hour of emptiness he’d gotten free completely outmatched by new customers. 

By the end, Dean was wiping off his forehead. The Roadhouse was supposed to be a  _ strip _ club, but aside from the girls, it was a typical nightclub. Once they turned on the lights, the bar and the pool table faded into the background, and if he couldn’t see Jo, he’d assume it was a cushy joint he’d walked into to get away from Sam for awhile. Really, though- Dean didn’t frequent nightclubs.  _ Definitely  _ not strip clubs. It grossed him out that he worked at one. But it was exactly like his dad to not realize and make him work here anyway.

“You’re still on for another half hour, Dean,” Cas told him politely. Dean blinked, staring at the apron he’d been taking off. 

“Oh-  _ shit _ ,” he cursed, jogging back and grabbing a glass for someone asking for neat whiskey. “Sorry, misunderstanding with times.” Laughing at himself, shaking his head, he caught sight of Cas and almost lost it. Rolling on the floor laughing. 

“Bartender!” Cas called, waving his hand in the air. 

Dean chuckled. “What are you wearing, buddy?” It was a half unbuttoned shirt, stark white, and some weirdly tight pants- even weirder, Cas’s face was loose and drunk. He looked like he belonged in a casino. 

Cas frowned at him for a second, dropping the act. “I want another drink,” he said. If Dean had not seen Cas actually shitfaced, he would believe he was drunk as hell. He raised his eyebrows but got a shot of vodka anyway. “No-  _ water _ ,” Cas hissed. 

Dean cocked his head but he poured a shot of water for Cas. “Here-?” 

“Thanks!” Cas staggered exaggeratedly to the pool table. Was he…. “I bet 500 dollars no one can beat me!” he slurred. 

Dean choked on laughter, weaving back to the other end and holding his breath for a good ten seconds. Anything else, he risked the hilarity getting to him. Cas was cheating. He was swindling people at pool. Dean peered overhead. And doing a damn good job of it, too, making sure the shots looked lucky. He could probably get at least 3 suckers to buy in before it was up, and if anyone was actually drunk- and judging by the triple shot he was right now pouring for a man two decades his senior, there were more’n a few drunk people in here- he’d get 5. 

It was genius. 

Dean was supposed to get off his shift in half an hour. It went more like 45 minutes. 15 past, by the time he changed out of the damp black shirt. Cas, who was not drunk, but high on adrenaline and success, crowded him outside the door. A steady stream of people were filtering in. 

  
“I took your advice, Dean. It went very well,” he said, staring into Dean’s eyes. 

“Nice, bud, I saw. You were creaming them. How much did you get?” 

Cas smiled, looking pleased with himself. Same old Cas- same old dorky expressions. “700 dollars. I think.” 

“Nice!” Dean slapped him on the back. Without warning- without a word- Cas leaned in and pressed their lips together. 

Shock. Shock and longing and regret tangled together.  _ Longing _ , especially. This was a dream it was all a- Cas’s eyes fluttered open. “Thank you, Dean. For teaching me how to do this.” 

He was trapped. For one, how could he leave the orbit of those eyes? For another, Cas was holding his hand. Dean could go for a cry. “Sure,” he said, strangled. 

Was this common? Was this their first kiss? Cas was not acting like it was their first kiss. He would be softer if it was. This Cas was smug and he was still holding Dean’s hand, walking towards his car. “I’ll follow you home. Make sure to let me into your garage, we don’t want people to see my car.” 

“Sure.”  _ what what what _ . This was common. Definitely. Oh, most definitely. Dean snuck a look up at Cas. He was gone. 

  
  


* * *

“Dean.” Breath tickled his shoulders. “Dean. Wake up.” 

  
  
“Go ‘way, Cas,” he grumbled, shoving his face deeper into the pillow. It was surprisingly non scratchy for a motel pillow. Huh. His nose scrunched up as something brushed it. The feather moved steadily back and forth until Dean groaned, pushing it away. The feather continued to wave across his nose. He pushed it away harder

A sharp yowl pushed him bolt upright. Angie was staring him down. “Holy- you scared me. Furball.” 

“I like your cat a lot. She is very affectionate,” Cas said in a low voice. Dean glanced at him, doing a double take and flushing. He seemed very naked.  _ Very  _ naked. Fully nude, in- nah. Underwear. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Angie is great.” 

“That is correct,” Cas chuckled. 

“I’ll get the coffee started, you can have some. Then clear out.” Cas’s mouth opened, about to say something, before it snapped shut. Dean hesitated. 

But he was silent, too. He walked out the door and even though clear blue eyes were on him the whole time, his self control held. He didn’t look back once. 

* * *

Tuesday had no mention of what happened the night before. And Wednesday, Dean knew, was his day off, that and Thursday. He hightailed it as soon as his shift ended and Cas didn’t bat an eyelash. 

Dean tried. He tried to call his mom, but she didn’t pick up, and Dean was fairly sure his Dad didn’t speak with him frequently. He was free to be alone with his thoughts. They were a tangled knot inside his head but the thread he wanted to follow was the one that led him  _ home _ . He needed to go back to his real life. He was extra homesick for Sam and he couldn’t deny that it hurt that only this fucky, alternate universe Cas wanted him. 

The Impala stopped in front of a beach. He stepped out, dusting off his swim shorts. His phone buzzed- oh, his mom, and there was a text from Bobby, and, and.

And this place wasn’t even bad. Dean had spent two weeks, maybe three here and he felt the all too common ache in his chest, the jolt of exhaustion that came and went. He was so tired of feeling guilty, this dream was a weight off of his back. The Impala, parked a couple blocks back, cast a familiar shadow, but this time it was on the sand. 

It squished through his toes and abruptly, Dean fell back, spreading out on the beach. Sun was coming up, but the stars still gleamed. There was no one to save out here. Just him, a bare assed couple frolicking, and his car. It wasn’t such a bad world. A soft sigh erupted from his chest and he turned, reaching for the beer he’d brought along. 

One beer in, and it felt like he was drowning in this cloudy, bubbly heaven of joy. Guilt and fear and the tired life he led, all the weight of it eased and he kept staring at the sky, eyes getting used to how bright it was. 

  
Two beers in, and he rolled onto his belly, pushing his face into his arms as the thoughts of forever tickled at the back of his mind. He wouldn’t risk it anywhere else. But maybe, maybe  _ here _ -

Three beers in and his thoughts circled towards Cas.

Cas was a lot steadier, here, and more playful, and Dean could even go out and introduce him. To his  _ parents _ . His dad wouldn’t like it. But his mom. She would come and hold him in a soft hug and ask after that Castiel, you’ve been dating, and Dean-

Dean was crying. He laid against the sand. This Cas, also, he wasn’t real. Dean could barely imagine Cas without an army of perpetually irritated angels at his back, good or bad intentions aside, and he couldn’t think of meeting Cas any other way than when he had pulled Dean out of Hell. He had pulled Dean out of Alastair’s prison. Dean couldn’t forget that. He couldn’t forget  _ them _ . This wasn’t Cas. 

Dean hadn’t been putting the proper effort into finding a way out; he knew that now. But he wasn’t going to stop until he was home. 

  
  


On Thursday, his dad came into the Roadhouse again. The girls were warming up and Dean was nodding along to some pre-game music. “Dean.” He rapped on the bar and Dean’s head jerked up. 

“Dad?” He tugged his tangled headphones from his ears. “I- uh, what’re you doing here?” 

Dad looked around. “It’s looking decent, here. I just wanted to stop by. Like I do every so often.” He cleared his throat. “I’m looking forward to your last payment on my house. You’ll be a free man, eh?” 

Dean’s heart twisted. There were good parts but he always forgot that he was beholden to his parents. “Yeah,” he said shortly. “Cas, what’s the situation on that liquor!” he called. 

His dad watched sourly. Their exchange was brief and Dean could hear the discomfort plaguing Cas’s voice so he did his best just to drop it and get back to Dad. “Why don’t you invite your friend along to dinner?” Dad asked him. 

Dean blinked. “Oh. I, uh, never thought about that. Cas, are you free Friday?”    
  


“Yes, Dean,” he replied smoothly, gliding back in the back door. The nerves on his face when he glanced at Dad were not out of place. Dean kinda felt the same way. It  _ did _ make him want to wrap Cas up in a big, cozy hug, though. 

“Then I’ll see you both then. I’m going to have Mr. Richings take a look around. Get a feel for the place. We’re selling it back to those-  _ Harvelles _ soon. Goodbye, Dean.” He shifted his shoulders back, and Death walked through the door. 

Dean had learned by now not to question it. Jo had the brightest beam on her face, Dean felt almost attacked by the brightness of it. He smiled helplessly back and felt a hand locking around his wrist. He turned his cheek away from the shadow of Cas, lurking behind him. His breath was just gone, trapped like a butterfly. A lone finger dragged down the inner side of his forearm and he began to breath again, chest slightly heaving- like a damn lady, ha!

“Thank you for inviting me,” Cas said solemnly. “I have not been in quite a while.” 

Dean forced a smile, finally turning around. “No problemo, buddy. Here, get me a beer.” Cas squinted at him but followed orders. Dean let out his breath again. 

* * *

  
  


“Motherfucker!” Sam shouted, giggling. He leaned into Ruby. Dean made a face and drank deeply from the beer. Yet again, no one was speaking to him. Cas was in the bathroom and Sam was obviously drunk or using, knocking over pieces of the Sorry game board like they were Lucifer’s Seals. Dean grimaced; maybe not such a great comparison. He watched the door beneath everyone’s notice, waiting for Cas. 

This night had been so much better. Cas would nudge him and murmur witty things while they were having gross, rich people cocktails, and he stood with him almost all night so that Dean’s Dad couldn’t corner him. It wasn’t like Dean was scared of his dad; he just liked to avoid… avoid some of the stuff that he knew would happen with him. So he watched the glossy doorframe, waiting for Cas to come back in. 

The startled jump he performed would have been embarrassing, if he were not scared shitless. His mom squeezed his shoulder, moving into his side. “How are you, honey?” she asked gently. “Everything going well at work?”    
  


“Yeah.” He smiled, looking down at his drink. “It’s not doing too bad. How about you?” 

“Same old,” she sighed. He waited for her to insert a question about girls, or something, a typical mom question. “Really, you’re alright?” 

He clenched his jaw. “Yep, everything’s fine.” His shoulders were no longer relaxed, and the bellyache of fear intensified when his Dad inserted himself into the conversation again. 

“So you aren’t aiming to go on some ridiculous trip again? We will take away your car if we suspect anything-” 

_ “John _ ,” his Mom hissed. Dean had his back against the wall. Oh  _ fuck _ when was Cas going to be back? 

“You’ve been acting too nicely lately. We both know it, Mary, it’s suspicious. You don’t even seem drunk at work. Or hungover. What is it?” his Dad asked intensely. “I visited your house the other day and it wasn’t trashed.” 

Mom put her hand over his mouth and Dad pushed it away, grumbling slightly and warning her with a look. “What we mean, Dean, is that this isn’t always typical of you. I love that you’re on time for work. I love that you’re doing everything you should be. Every mother wants to see her son happy like this. I’m just worried that it only looks perfect on the surface.” 

Shit. This Dean, what, he went on  _ benders _ all weekend? He fucked around into work, late, raccoon eyes, maybe? He laid at home on a trashed couch, wasted? He was a fuckin’  _ party boy _ ? “I am perfectly fine, thank you for asking,” Dean told them coldly, but it was directed at his dad. He didn’t want to be mean to his mom. Couldn’t even look at her. The eyes were haunting. It was perfect recognition of how much he’d missed out on,  _ and _ it was perpetual disappointment and he missed her- he wished he had a mom, a real one, and…. 

Dean stumbled away with a quickly forgotten excuse, making a beeline for anywhere but near his parents.

“Dean.” He swept his eyes across the room, only realizing now that he was here. His feet had carried him straight towards the door and Cas had landed a rock solid grip on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” The intense eyes saw through to his damn soul. 

It was a pretty deceiving illusion, he’d give it that. Just enough to make him want it, and then enough to make him stay. The mother, the brother with a perfect life, plus everyone he ever could have professed to love, alive and happy. He looked at Sam again, head lolled on Ruby’s shoulder and manic. Almost happy. But that was the catch. Perfect happiness wasn’t enough to make him stay. It was unfinished business that did. “Cas-” 

Cas steadied him with a weighty hand. “Dean, tell me what’s wrong,” he said softly. 

An ugly smile marred Dean’s face. “Can’t do that, bud.” He moved towards the door but Bobby stopped him. Oh, Dean had to make this quick. He punched Bobby out- sorry, Bobby- and whipped to face the guy meant to be his dad, who was taller than his dad had ever been. He focused on a knife a few feet away at the desserts table. 

Djinn. Djinn, of course.

“Dean, where do you think you’re going?” his dad snapped. Ghost shivers whistled along the back of his neck and he moved for it. The knife glinted, just out of his reach, and he fought valiantly for it. Bringing his elbow down with a loud  _ crack _ on his own mother’s neck might have been one of the worst things he’d ever done. 

“Gotta get out of this vision,” Dean growled, diving for it and finally grasping it. He took it- hand shaking- and went for his own jugular. 

The world was a fading mess of sepia and he curled onto the ground, tears awash on his face. 

* * *

  
  


“He’s up.” 

“Dean?”

His throat was dry. “You sound chirpy,” he grunted. “It was-” 

“It was a djinn,” Sam interrupted. “Fuck, I-” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m so glad you ended up realizing,” he said, sotto voce. Dean’s eyes flicked up, to Cas. He was guarding the bed, staring at the door. 

“It was so vivid,” Dean murmured. “Come- Sammy. Come here. Hug me.” 

Sam’s eyes narrowed but he slotted himself into Dean’s arms and they both held on tight. “Where were  _ you _ stuck?” Sam posed it as a rhetorical question; good, Dean wasn’t going to talk about it.

The feelings were a sticky mix and it was almost a guaranteed cry, so he was going to push them down the way he should. “Just hug me, bitch,” Dean said, squeezing one last time. 

“If you need to go to build a bear this weekend and make yourself a friend full of lots of love, Dean, you know I’m willing to pay,” Sam teased. 

“You’re the one who loves Build A Bear, Sammy,” Dean rasped, sitting up on the couch. A soft blanket slipped off of his shoulder. “Who’s gonna get me a beer?” 

“I can do it,” Cas said immediately. 

“Aww, was our angel worried?” Dean asked, checking out Sam’s expression for a confirmation. His baby brother nodded tightly, grimacing. 

“Very much so.”    
  


“I felt an appropriate amount of concern for the human under my charge,” Cas snapped out, oblivious to the pair of fond smiles he was receiving. 

“So what was going on in there?” Sam asked, eyebrows spiking. “Let me guess: Hot tub, four girls, I was there and I was bringing you beer. Bobby and Cas were working on the Impala. All in the Bahamas?” 

“Hawaii,” Dean replied. “And I think you’re underestimating how… vivid it was.” He looked between Sammy and Cas. 

“Are you feeling the effects?” Cas stepped in between Dean’s legs, bracing his thumbs on Dean’s temples and concentrating hard. “You aren’t wounded.” He stepped back, but only slightly. Cas was  _ right there _ . 

“So it was… a real world? Not just a fantasy?” 

Dean shrugged. “Guess so. People were alive, and I’m surprised I let myself believe it wasn’t real, considering.” He cleared his throat. “So you killed him, eh, Cas? Nice, buddy.” 

“It wasn’t difficult.” His eyes darkened, stormy.    
  


Sam rested a hand on Dean’s shoulderblade. “I picked up a pie on the way home from California. Should we get some slices and call it a night?” 

“Sounds good.”    
  


* * *

The night wound down, a typical end to the day. Cas was staying over. Sam retired to bed long ago, and Dean was fresh out of the shower. He was wracked by occasional shudders, as if the events of the past few weeks were crashing into him like waves. His head hit the wall with a thunk.

Those djinn things… they were supposed to be designed to make you so happy you didn’t want to leave. Dean didn’t understand why his had been like  _ that _ . It made no sense! A rustle by the door dragged him away from the swamp of feelings in his head.

“Dean?” Cas asked. 

Dean leaned his head against the door. He tried to think of something funny, witty, to say. He came up empty, staring blankly at his angel. “Cas? Need anything?” 

“I was thinking I’d work on a sweater tonight.” Dean blinked, eyes travelling across the room to Cas’s supplies. “Do you want me to sit next to you on your bed? And knit?” 

Fuck, that sounded nice. Dean rubbed his bleary eyes. “Sure.” He dropped the towel on the chair beside him. His pajamas were nice and soft, a soft black v-neck and his best sweatpants. “That’s going to be nice.” 

Cas sat on the left side and Dean climbed into the right. The only light in the room was a fat lamp, and the starlight soaking into the floor. For awhile, all he did was just stare at the ceiling. For being tired as fuck, it sure was hard to sleep. He continued to toss and turn, until Cas shifted closer to him, his leg up against Dean’s torso. The vague warmth, better than any blanket or any heater, most pajamas, too, felt all too nice. If it wasn’t literally his best friend’s leg, he’d curl up into it. 

He should hook up with someone soon, hopefully one who wouldn’t be mad if he had a nightmare. Not that Dean would stay the night. “Dean,” Cas whispered. “It’s been 2 hours.” 

He groaned. “Are you serious?” Cas nodded, looking sad for him. There was a bit of wind whistling outside. Dean’s fingers trailed along the covers. 

He glanced up to Cas. his heart was like a deck of cards put into a tower, slowly folding in on itself, when he saw the almost-serene, not quite, look on his face. Cas was a real beauty, Dean would have to see about finding him someone, soon. It was hard to breath through his dusty lungs, through the dampness of his mouth. His face was a flaming red from the inside. “I can help you,” Cas said. 

“Tired of having my brain messed with.” A rain of goosebumps peppered down his neck when Cas went really in for the kill, stroking at Dean’s hair. Dean’s next few breaths were rough and he turned his head slowly, into the fingers buried in his hair. He was in his 30s, this was pathetic, it just, it felt nice. And Dean was in a reckless mood. 

“I have been there,” Cas said evenly. A jolt of misery passed through Dean. 

He couldn’t believe how well he’d been  _ fooled _ . “I’m here to make you a cup of joe if you’re having nightmares.” Wasn’t that the worst thing to say? To an  _ angel _ ? Not only did angels not sleep, angels weren’t affected by caffeine. At least Cas liked the taste. 

“As a comforting beverage? Similar to how you like to drink hot chocolate?” Cas asked, seeming genuinely curious. Otherwise, Dean would have bitten his head off. 

“Haha,” Dean said dryly, staring past the gentle curve of Cas’s thigh to the wall on the other side of the room. “Fine, mojo me. Make me sleep,” he agreed. Cas pressed his thumb onto Dean’s forehead, put the other thumb on his cheek. 

“I’ll just make you drowsy,” he said quietly. “It should help with your restlessness.” 

If Dean had been awake a moment longer, his eyes would not be dry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will PROBABLY be making a follow up where they ACTuALLY get together. if I get even one (1) comment telling me to do so, I will !!!!

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't edit this as much as I should have but honestly I have no clue what is happening right now. The world is simply Not Real and I am simply struggling. Feeling really upset for no reason at all. 
> 
> Comment if you liked it at all! The next two chapters are coming in the next three days!


End file.
